Four Weddings and a Funeral
by ohwhatagloomyshow
Summary: As a beloved professor, Minerva McGonagall is invited to many weddings. She cries at every one. Pottermore spoilers in the last two chapters.
1. The First Invitation

She spat the password out before she even had time to think about it; her toes tapped impatiently against the stone when the statue took too long to unwind the staircase. When just enough space was opened for her entrance, she squeezed between the walls, nearly flying up the passage way. She was slightly breathless when she came to him, sitting patiently in his lounge chair, his fingers pressed into a steeple and resting at his chin.

"Oh, Albus, you'll never guess what I got in the post!" she exclaimed in extreme agitation, holding out an ivory piece of parchment that looked as though it had been wrung in her hands for the past several minutes.

"The next issue of _Witch Weekly_," he supplied with a half-smile, his fingers tapping against one another. She shot him a look that was not quite patient enough to be a scowl, and tossed him the paper.

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of _

_MOLLY PREWETT_

_and_

_ARTHUR WEASLEY_

_At Two O'clock_

_Wednesday Afternoon_

_July the Tenth, Nineteen Hundred and Sixty Eight_

_Ottery St.-Catchpole_

He gazed at the script for a few moments, a smile playing on his face.

"There's more to it—directions, I assume. I left them in the envelope." She sighed and caught her face in her hands, rubbing her eyes lightly with the tips of her fingers. "I feel so _old_, Albus!" she cried suddenly, startling him a bit. She threw her hands from her face and paced the room, and he couldn't tell if he'd caught the hint of a smile on her lips or tears in her eyes. "Some of my first students, getting _married_."

"Well, we all knew this day would come," he sighed as he lifted himself from his chair, setting the invitation on a nearby table. When she turned to him, he was rather startled to see a faint tear trail down her cheek. She chuckled at herself as he wiped the tear away.

"Would you like me to accompany you?"

"If you're free, yes. I think I'll need it."


	2. Molly Prewett and Arthur Weasley

The wedding was such a quiet affair, she noticed as they walked through the field to approach the wedding party. There was no tent, just a few balloons and streamers that floated through the air, just above the altar. Everything was white with little touches of pink now and again, and Minerva smiled at the pink roses that rested on every seat. She and Dumbledore sat far back on the left side, choosing Molly's section rather than Arthur's as she was sure that the invitation had come from Molly. Scanning the guests, she was sure they were only two of a handful of friends invited, the rest being family, as far as she could tell, from the obscene amount of red hair. They recognized a couple of other Hogwarts students, who nodded to them in greeting, some even waving in their surprised delight.

The tears began to fall as Molly made her way down the aisle, a surge of pride and love swelling Minerva's heart as she watched one of her favorite students walk toward her future. Molly looked _so_ beautiful, she realized, with little white flowers in her hair and the biggest smile in the world on her face. She clutched Dumbledore's sleeve as Molly and Arthur kissed, and in spite of herself, she released a large sob. He patted her knee.

They kept to themselves during the small reception, keeping to their place in their corner, nursing their wine and bits of cake. She kept her face hidden from view, but occasionally he could hear a violent sniff or two from her direction.

"Are you crying, Minerva?" he asked softly, forming the words from the side of his mouth, just an inch or two from her ear—close enough that she could feel his breath.

She turned to face him with indignation that was ruined by the sight of her red eyes. "_No_," she hissed, her entire appearance belying her. He smiled kindly, and offered her his handkerchief, which she took with a rapid flick of her wrist, touching it lightly to her face. His eyes scanned the room for her as he blocked her from the rest of the crowd, for her own sake.

"Molly's heading this way," he whispered casually, and she responded with the severest sniff yet, and he step-sided to reveal her once more; she turned around just as Molly approached them, her face composed once more.

"I'm so glad you could come, Professor McGonagall!" she greeted, opening her arms. Startled, Minerva let herself be hugged and struggled to swallow the sobs that jumped to her throat. "I know it's been hard to get out, with You-Know-Who gaining power and everything." Her voice was much lower as she pulled away, her own eyes beginning to glisten with tears. "But I appreciate this _so much_, really. And Arthur does, too—he's just a bit caught up with my parents, or else he'd be here with me, too."

Minerva's lips trembled as she tried to speak, but she grabbed Dumbledore's hand and squeezed instead. As expected, he understood the cue.

"Minerva was honored that you thought to invite her, Molly. I hope you don't mind that I accompanied her as her guest."

Immediately Molly shook her head, and took Dumbledore in her arms, as well. He was grinning as they pulled away. "It was a beautiful service, Mrs. Weasley, and I know we'll both remember it for the rest of our lives."

She blushed severely, her skin matching her bright hair. "That's very kind, Headmaster. Thank you. Please help yourself to more cake and wine!"

"If you don't mind, I think we'll make our exit soon. It's been a very lovely ceremony and reception. Give our regards to your family."

"Thank you both, again." Impulsively she reached out to grab their hands and gave them both a severe squeeze before turning back to her other guests.

Minerva leaned against Dumbledore's side and her tears soaked through his robe.

"My dear Professor," he sighed, wrapping his arm around her waist, "this can only be the first of many weddings, and if you plan on using my sleeves as handkerchiefs for each one, I'm afraid we'll have to stop going as each other's guest."

There was a smile in his voice, but she glared at him nonetheless.


	3. The Second Invitation

The last invitation of 1976 reached her at the very beginning of Christmas holiday, when only the staff remained in the ancient and looming castle. Her footsteps echoed eerily as she worked her way to his office, much slower and more patient the second time around as she contemplated what his reaction would be.

He greeted her with the ever-permanent half-smile. "What news do you bring me today, Minerva?"

"Another wedding invitation." She glanced at him through the corner of her eye as she made her way to his half-empty bottle of Madeira in the corner.

"Who is it this time? Anyone we'd predicted?"

Now she had her back to him, and kept it that way as she poured herself a drink. "Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black."

"Malfoy?" For once, he did not mask his feelings: the surprise and discontent was clear in his voice. "Well, I suppose you guessed they would get married—but they invited _you_?"

A part of her wanted to be insulted, but she stopped herself from lashing back by taking a swig, turning back to face him and leaning against his cabinet. "It's not _exactly_ an invitation, I'll admit," she confessed, gesturing to the paper she held in her other hand. "I don't think Malfoy would've let her use an official one for me."

"_Narcissa_ invited you?" He seemed more surprised at this than he had at the invitation itself.

Smug and a little offended, she stiffened, and leaned away from the cabinet. "Narcissa did very well in my class. She was a very bright girl." She paused to sip, and Dumbledore took advantage.

"Well, she can't be _too_ bright with Bellatrix for a sister—"

"Albus!" She nearly choked on her drink; as she recovered herself, she slammed the glass onto the nearest table. "I will not tolerate that kind of talk about my students, Albus." For a moment she seemed to growl, and she was so much more a lioness than a tabby cat. "The Blacks and Malfoys _may_ be showing their true colors with the emergence of—well—of _You-Know-Who_—" she interrupted herself to take another swig "—but that does not mean that _all of them_ are inherently bad. I thought you of all people would understand that. Narcissa was a very good student, and I plan to support her by going to her wedding."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "Just know that I will not be accompanying you this time, Minerva. I don't believe the Malfoys or the Blacks care for me too much—even if Narcissa does."

The fierce expression on her face faltered at this news. "You're not coming with me?"

He shook his head, but smiled encouragingly. "I'm sure you can survive _one_ wedding without me."


	4. Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy

The ceremony was held in the large foyer of Malfoy Manor, and the dark dampness of the interior was slightly off-putting, even with the colorful tapestries and bright orange and gold bouquets of ranunculus and marigold flowers every few feet struggling to push out the chilly feeling from the room; the coldness still seeped through the walls as the overwhelming gold and orange colors assaulted the eyes of the guests.

Minerva took her seat quietly in the last row on Narcissa's side, and prepared herself. She hadn't known Narcissa well during those seven years of education, but the threat of tears still lingered behind her eyes: this was _still_ her student, regardless of how close they had gotten, or how much they had ever liked each other. She pushed herself to think back, and found herself surprised at how very little she had ever interacted directly with Narcissa, and yet she still felt this strange intimacy with the girl—they may not have talked much, but she had done _so_ well in Transfigurations, much to the disgust of her elder sister Bellatrix, and that talent had seemed to connect them, student and professor, in at least some way. Clearly, she had made a mark on the girl, as Minerva observed she was the only professor there—well, she lied: Slughorn was spotted on Malfoy's side, his girth nearly taking up two seats. A silent chuckle distracted her from her tears for the slightest moment.

And the music started and she stood, her eyes scanning for Narcissa—and there she was, coming down the aisle, looking like a peacock with her shimmery blonde hair done up and her dress wide and detailed to the smallest inch of fabric. A part of her wanted to roll her eyes at the pointless extravagance of it all, but the rest of her could barely breathe with the desire to weep with the rush of love that flooded her heart.

Malfoy was smug at the altar, as though he were claiming a great prize. The look on his face calmed her somehow, detached her from the ceremony, and she regained her composure.

The following reception was much too lavish for her tastes, and she wanted to make her exit as soon as she could—but the look on Narcissa's face stopped her. She looked lonely in the crowded room, somehow—a part of but separate from the crowd that followed her and her spouse around the room. So she decided to stay, at least until she said her congratulations, and she took a piece of cake and wine and waited patiently out of sight.

For a brief moment, Narcissa was alone at the buffet, and Minerva took her chance. Hastily setting her plate and glass on a nearby table, she took quick steps to where the bride sighed and collected herself. Cautiously, she touched Narcissa's shoulder, and slowly she turned. She looked so weary for the first half-second, but at the sight of her old professor's face, she brightened just enough that the exhaustion was masked by contentment.

"I'm so glad you could come, Professor," she murmured.

"It was my pleasure, Narcissa." She held out her hand, and the girl took it eagerly, slightly squeezing the worn palm. "Congratulations."

A smile worked its way onto the bride's face, and the visit seemed to give her strength to move onto the rest of the party; with a slight nod of goodbye, the women parted.


	5. The Third Invitation

It was only in 1978 that Dumbledore finally beat Minerva to the punch, arriving at her office before she could go to his. His grin was shining as he entered her office after hours, finding her with her head in her hands, her shoulders drooping. The hand that held the invitation outstretched suddenly fell to his side.

"What is it, Minerva?" he asked, quickening his pace to place a hand on her shoulder.

Lightly she shrugged it off, straightening as she sighed. "A little tired, Albus." She gestured to the parchment he held. "You got an invitation, too?"

He Conjured up a seat beside her. "Yes."

"We both called this one, didn't we?" The smile pushed some of the exhaustion from her eyes. "This is one of the more obvious ones, really." She reached beneath a tall pile of essays to pull out a worn matching parchment, the ink a bit more faded, although the names _James Potter _and_ Lily Evans_ still stood out.

"I'm worried about them," she sighed. "They've made their views on You-Know-Who and his followers so loud and clear: it can't bring any good."

Dumbledore touched her shoulder. "But they're _doing_ good for speaking out. I think that is what they both want, to do good regardless of their safety."

She sighed again. "They're so strong, aren't they?"

"They're strong because they had you for a professor."

Beneath her tired pallor she blushed. "Do you really think I have that much of an influence on my students?"

"I _know_ it, Minerva. If you want proof, look at your wedding invitations: at least five every year, for over twenty years, and not _all _of them from Gryffindors!"

She smiled despite herself as she remembered, the flashes of more than a hundred weddings popping up before her eyes. "Well, I've been ruining my reputation at every wedding, regardless," she replied briskly as she straightened the stack of essays, turning away from him. "I cry at every one."

"And it's very charming."

And her coldness was undone.


	6. Lily Evans and James Potter

This was going to be less of a wedding and more of a reception party, she realized with a sigh. She could feel Dumbledore's curious gaze on her as they walked up the path, and she sighed a bit louder.

"I can't help but feel—well, disappointed," she admitted, flicking her eyes up to his, "that we're not actually going to watch them get married."

He surprised her by chuckling at her words. "You're such a romantic, Minerva."

She sighed once more, this one the loudest of them all. "And that stays between us."

His hand patted hers as they continued up the beaten path to the little home, identical to the others on the row in Godric's Hollow. Two story, nothing special, but she was surprised as she felt them pass through a shield of protective spells.

"What have they to be worried about?"

Dumbledore let her comment slide, and she tried not to let it bother her as they reached the mahogany door.

A hand disappeared inside his robe and he withdrew his knotted wand and knocked on the door twice. As the tip hovered just above the mahogany for a third rap, it flew open to reveal a grinning young woman with flaming hair. Minerva hardly had time to recognize her before the girl was in her arms.

"Oh, I'm so glad you both could come!" Lily exclaimed, holding her tight before moving on to hug the Headmaster. "_We're_ glad you both could come. We were so nervous you wouldn't, and we have so much to catch up on!" She took their hands and took a step back, admiring them as they took the chance to admire her.

She looked much happier, Minerva thought, studying her face: a bit of the worry was gone from her eyes and it seemed to be that she smiled much easier than she had at Hogwarts. She had put a bit of weight on, rounding out her edges and giving her a softer appearance, the appearance of a woman and not a girl.

"The summer has done you well," Dumbledore complimented with a wink, and Lily accepted it gratefully with a wide smile.

"I think the same is true for both of you." She squeezed their hands. "Come in, come in! James is so excited to see you." She released them and guided them into her home and through the light-blue hallway into the sun-filled, green-walled living room, where Minerva was surprised to find Slughorn, Filius, and Pomona already sitting. She began to speak, to ask them questions, but was interrupted by the sudden grasping of her hand.

It was James Potter, and she grinned as their eyes met, tightening the handshake.

"Professor McGonagall, it's so good to see you again!" He looked just the same as ever: hair still chaotic, glasses slightly askew, brown eyes bright and alive. His shoulders drooped slightly, as though he carried a heavy burden; life must not be treating him as well as it treated Lily, she decided.

He released her hand and moved on to greet Dumbledore as she moved over to sit between her friends

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" she murmured, nodding absently to Slughorn in greeting.

"Why didn't you tell _us_?" she replied with a grin. "If we'd all known we could've come together!"

Minerva turned to greet Filius as Lily came into the room with a tray of biscuits and tea, setting it down on the coffee table before taking her seat near Slughorn. When the conversation lulled, Minerva realized that James and Dumbledore had disappeared to another corner of the house. She wanted to ask where they had gone, but knew that Albus would tell her what had happened after the get-together.

Lily entertained them by telling stories about what had happened to her and James after graduation; some were funny, but some made Minerva's heart wrench with a feeling akin to homesickness and for a moment or two she wished it was still 1975 and she was still looking after the two of them, so young and carefree and _so_ talented.

Albus had once told her that her love for her students seemed just as strong as a mother's love for her children, and she realized he had spoken the truth: as Lily spoke about how they had come to live in Godric's Hollow, her heart ached with her pride and her happiness at seeing Lily's happiness, but there was a sadness that tugged at her mind, the sadness that they were no longer children, and no longer her responsibility.

She felt the tears prick at her eyes, and began to laugh, internally, at herself. What an over-emotional fool she was, nearly crying at a get-together! And where had Albus vanished off to—Albus, the only one who could get her to stop crying once she started.

Pomona, Filius, and Slughorn did all the speaking for her, and she was relieved when Lily didn't look directly at her for contribution to the conversation, as Minerva knew she wouldn't be able to speak.

Silently, James and Albus reappeared at the mouth of the room, leaning against the wall and quietly observing the conversation. He met her eyes first, and smiled sympathetically at her wet eyes and trembling lips. When there was a pause, he stepped into the room and placed himself into the small gap Filius had made on the couch, and took her hand.

Even with the addition of James to the conversation—he stood at Lily's side, an arm wrapped lovingly around her shoulders—there was not much else to say, and when the biscuits and tea had disappeared from the tray, the group seemed to become a tad restless.

"Before you all go," James spoke up as they stood from the couch, "we just wanted to apologize one more time for not having a wedding. We were just so excited to get married that we couldn't wait; we didn't have time to plan anything." There was a slight hitch in his voice, and Minerva sensed that he hadn't been telling the whole truth; his last words seemed to be the truest of what he had said.

Lily only nodded in agreement, and then took her place by the hallway to say goodbye. Her arms were warm when they enveloped Minerva, and they held each other all the tighter as they silently realized that they didn't know the next time they would meet.

Even Lily's eyes were a little wet when they finally released each other. "Take care, Professor," she murmured after clearing her throat, a wide smile brightening her face.

Minerva could only nod; her throat had constricted too tightly to speak.

"And I just wanted to say—thank you. For everything you've done for me. I just—_thank you_." And those seemed to be the only words Lily could get from herself, as her lips pressed tightly together in an effort not to cry.

Minerva only took her hand and squeezed it in reply, still too full of emotion to speak, and moved on to James, who also had a warm hug waiting for her.

"Thank you for coming, Professor."

The lightness of his tone allowed her to speak. "Any time, Potter." She patted his forearm and gave him a small smile, taking one last long look at him before glancing back over to Lily and exiting through the front door.

Dumbledore followed soon behind, and his arm wrapped itself easily around her waist as she placed her head against his shoulder, allowing herself a small cry. She even thought she could feel a tear or two of Dumbledore's land on the top of her head.

She had recovered herself by the time they had Apparated to Hogsmeade, and remembered to ask him a question.

"Why did James speak to you privately?"

"He had something I wanted to see, and he took me over to it to show me. And we had a few little things to talk about."

"Anything important?"

"I wouldn't think so, no." But his tone was more evasive and vague than she was used to, and deep in her heart she wondered if he was lying. 

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><p>The next two chapters are all Pottermore spoilers for Minerva McGonagall's backstory, so if you haven't spoiled yourself yet, please do so soon! If you haven't read her information yet the next two parts will surprise you and I don't want to spoil any of you if you do not want to be spoiled.<p> 


	7. An Engagement

She came into his office hurriedly, her hands trembling as she paced before him. The curiosity burned inside chest but he let her pace without a word, knowing that, given time, the issue would burst out of her when she was ready for it.

Sometimes she would smile uncontrollably, and it would last for just a moment on her mouth before she realized it was there and stifled it with a nervous hand. She bit her lips and then the tip of her thumb, and slowly the trembling left her arms. Her breathing regulated and her legs carried her much slower around the room until she found herself sitting in a chair at his side, one her feet had unconsciously taken her to as the trembling reached her knees and she was unable to stand.

Another smile—a secret smile. She still refused to look at him.

"I said yes."


	8. The Wedding of Minerva McGonagall

_POTTERMORE SPOILERS AHEAD_

* * *

><p>"I still think this is all a bit silly, don't you think?" she asked, picking at her thumbnail as she stared hard into the mirror, watching Pomona braid the lavender-blue anemone flowers into her hair. "To have a ceremony for such a—an insignificant thing!" For a moment she wished she <em>had<em> asked him for a ring, if only to have something to fidget with.

"Minerva, I'm surprised at you," Pomona murmured through the flowers she held between her lips as she pinned another one into the braid. "You've seen so many; it's strange that you're uncomfortable with a wedding of your own!"

"I just think it's unnecessary, that's all." She brought the fingernail to her mouth and began to chew, struggling to distract herself.

"After twenty years of proposals you think a wedding ceremony is _unnecessary?"_ Pomona half-laughed, sticking the final flower behind Minerva's ear, which she touched delicately with her free hand. "There," she murmured, pleased with herself. "You're done."

"Thank you," she replied automatically as she stood, still staring at herself in the mirror. She felt foolish in the white dress that Dumbledore had _insisted _she wear—she could still hear his voice, _What's a wedding without a bride in white_?, after she had declared her plan to wear her regular robes. It had taken him weeks but he had worn her down, convincing her into purchasing the dress she now wore. It was a very shapeless thing, a sleeveless ivory white sheet that hung off her narrow shoulders. Of course, it had been impossible to find any dress that flattered her form at her tiny price range, so she had bought it simply to please him.

"Oh—wait!" Pomona pulled her from the memory as she dashed off to the other side of the room, taking something from one of the desks and turning around with her hands full and a bright smile on her face. "This _finally_ came in today. I know how much you like tartan: I thought it would add a nice final touch, apart from the flowers."

In her hands she held a band of blue-green tartan cotton, and for the first time that day, Minerva gave an honest smile. Pomona's arms encircled her middle as she pulled the fabric around her waist, and clipped the ends together. "Is that Scottish enough for you, dear?"

As she glanced back to the mirror a rush of love for Pomona swelled her heart—it was perfect. And not just because it was tartan: the tightness of the sash fixed the looseness of the dress, and suddenly she had a waist and hips and the hint of breasts beneath the cool, light satin. She turned to the side and studied her hair, pulled into a complicated braid with indigo flowers that just matched the tartan. She looked—

"Beautiful, Minerva." The voice came from the doorway and her heart skipped a beat as she jumped around, her braid whipping against her neck. It was just Dumbledore, leaning against the doorframe, his hands held together at his waist and a content expression on his face, his eyes scanning her. "I've never seen you look more stunning."

She blushed severely and avoided his eyes, turning back to Pomona as she clutched her chest from the leftover shock. Pomona grinned with such a large smile that Minerva could only mimic it, and hugged her friend tightly. "Thank you, _really,_ for everything you've done," Minerva murmured in her ear. "You've been such a help."

"Oh, dear," Pomona replied as she patted her back, "I was happy to help." They parted, and she sniffed a little, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. "My, but you do look wonderful." She glanced from Dumbledore to Minerva, and excused herself. "I'll just go outside and wait, then."

There was a brief moment of silence between the remaining two, and Minerva stared at her hands for a while. "Merlin, I'm nervous!" she exclaimed, uncomfortable with the quiet. She glanced up to him and he was grinning. "After all of the weddings we've been to, you'd think I'd feel a bit prepared."

He said nothing, but held out his hand for her. She went to him immediately, taking the warm hand with her two. He leaned to her silently, and for a moment his lips found her forehead.

"I'm so _happy_ for you, Minerva," he murmured, and he squeezed her hands tightly as his eyes met hers. "I think this is good for you—I think you _need_ someone."

The intensity of his gaze and the sincerity of his words startled her a bit, and she glanced away. "I've gotten along so well with you, though, haven't I?"

Vigorously he shook his head. "But I can't give you what you _need_," he stressed, capturing her gaze once more. "You need a companion, Minerva—you can't see that about yourself, but I can. I won't always be here for you. But he will. And he _wants_ to be there for you. He loves you so much."

Suddenly she found herself blinking tears from her eyes; his words had shaken her up. "Merlin, he's waited so long for me, hasn't he?" she murmured with a thin voice that trembled, and she found herself in Dumbledore's arms. Over _twenty years_ he had waited for her, proposing again and again on the streets of Hogsmeade and along the Hogwarts grounds, his face always eager, always happy as he did so, politely but so passionately telling her how much he cared for her, how clever and pretty he found her—and still the smile on his face as she said no, still the hand on hers when she made him wait another year. And, Merlin, how he _never_ made those pauses awkward! Only the first one had been strange, and she had only turned him down for her leftover love of Dougal—her heart surged at the name. But with McGregor dead she could finally make him a happy man, a man who had waited more than two decades just to be with her.

"I love him, too," she finally choked out as his ear, the tears spilling over her cheeks and down on his shoulder. "I do." She thought of him and how he always lit up like a spark when she spoke with him and how he _always_ had that smile on his face and how he knew just the right thing to say to cheer her up and how he—even more than Dumbledore—made her feel like she was significant.

She was still crying when they pulled away, but she was smiling through it, the brightest smile he had ever seen her wear. He offered her his arm, and she took it eagerly.

A warm breeze made its way through the castle and ruffled the hem of her gown and cooled the sweating skin at her hands. The students were long-gone in the summer heat and the guests waited for them at the edge of the lake while she and he walked through the bare stone corridors.

"He's thinking about buying a home for us in Hogsmeade," she murmured just as they approached the stairs. "So I'll probably come back to collect my things in a week or so."

"Of course, we'll be happy to help you move," he replied kindly. "Anything to make your life together a bit easier."

Another silence passed between them, and when he released her arm to open the great doors of Hogwarts, she lost a bit of her self-control.

"I'm so _bloody_ nervous!" It escaped her before she could think it over, but once it was out she seemed to relax. Dumbledore regarded her with curiosity as she took his arm again. "I don't know how to be a wife!" The nervousness seeped into her tone and made her voice quake.

"But you know how to be a _friend_," he murmured, placing a hand over hers and squeezing. "And that's all that ever matters."

"Is it?" She glanced at him hesitantly, frantically, as they came closer and closer to the wedding party.

Softly, he chuckled. "_Yes_."

The next silence nearly drove her to insanity. "Just think of it—me, _married_!" The words spilled from her, unable to be contained. "And—and marrying my ex-coworker, too! He used to be my boss, Albus! That's like—like if _you and I_ got married, or something!" A nervous, nearly hysterical chuckle escaped her and she held onto his guiding arm ever tighter.

He calmed her with a strong pat on her arm. "Just breathe," he murmured. "We're nearly there."

The expansive grounds of Hogwarts began to melt away as they came nearer and nearer to the wedding party just at the cusp of the lake. The sun was just beginning to set, the sky golden-blue as the rays hit the lake, illuminating the ripples and tiny waves. Foldable white chairs sat in front of the makeshift altar, facing the water and the few people who stood near the podium. Minerva recognized the backs of her coworkers and ex-coworkers on both sides, and a desperate flush worked its way up her neck and cheeks. She couldn't do this—so many people watching her take this enormous leap into a marriage she didn't feel prepared for. She bit down on her lip.

They came a bit closer and a few of the heads started to turn, mouths grinning as Dumbledore guided her down the aisle. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest and she looked everywhere but in the eyes of her guests. By accident, she met his eyes, and her heart seemed to pound in double-time before it relaxed as she traced over his familiar features: the calming smile, and those warm, warm eyes. Elphinstone Urquart.

He faced the right side of the audience, his head turned so he could watch her travel down the aisle, his eyes only for her, every so often tracing over her figure, his grin always widening for a moment when he glanced at the tartan.

She smiled inwardly as she thought of how different Elphinstone and Albus were, and how excited she was to be married, in spite of herself. As well as she had gotten along with Albus all of these years, it was like she was marrying his opposite—and the absolute joy this knowledge gave her: it filled her up until she felt like she would burst.

They were opposites as physically as they were mentally, she thought, and the inward grin grew even wider. While Albus was so tall, so thin, Elphinstone was a delightfully short, plump man, his white-kissed hair only just starting to bald. His face was rounder, less sharp, his nose like a button and his chin soft and subtle. And his lips were much more prone to smiling than Albus's had ever been, so eager to take a shape that brightened up his face so handsomely.

Albus's humor lay within the speed of his wit and his ability to turn a phrase; Elphinstone enjoyed jokes and pranks and laughed at an embarrassing volume. He was so warm to everyone he met, where Albus was prone to be colder and distant to those he did not know. And that might have been the thing that made her love him: Elphinstone's emotions were so obvious and so passionate to everyone that they seemed to draw out her own; her happiness seemed that much stronger when she shared it with him. Albus had kept himself so tightly drawn within himself that sometimes she thought she barely knew him—but she knew everything about Elphinstone, and everything she knew was beautiful.

She was grinning openly by the time Dumbledore had walked her to the altar, and when his cool, narrow hand transferred her grip into Elphinstone's warm, soft fingers, she thought she might explode.

She felt at home with her hand in his: this was where she belonged.


	9. The Funeral

They were silent at the grave together, just the two of them alone as all the others had gone with the appearance of rain. The fresh dirt turned to mud just before her feet and she stared at it, stared as the earth transformed before her eyes.

She could hear him come nearer, and felt the pressure on her shoulder where he placed his hand. She shrugged it off, and he withdrew his touch.

"There was this thing he used to do," she suddenly found herself saying, not even sure if she'd consciously decided to speak—her voice was cool and even as she half-shouted over the fall of rain, "when it was dark, or raining, or when I was just about to sleep. You never would've approved of it but I loved it—as much as I hated it I loved it. He used to get close to my ear, or sneak up behind me, and he'd whisper "Voldemort" so softly—and you, of _all_ people, know how I react to that name. Well, he'd say it, and I'd _always_ scream or shake and he'd laugh and take my hand and apologize a dozen times and swear on his life that he'd never do it again. But he always did it. He always liked to startle me—I don't know why." Her eyes were tight on the stone, her eyes tracing and retracing the engraved letters.

"I don't know why I told you that," she added in a quieter voice, pulling away once more as he tried to comfort her.

"Would you like some tea, Minerva?" he finally asked above the din of rainfall. "Please, come back with me to Hogwarts. You can't stand out here in the rain like this, you'll catch your death. You can come back to my office with me and we'll have something hot to drink."

"Thank you, Albus, but no thank you." Finally she turned away, for the first time in hours, and her face was hard, so hard, her eyes set and lips a thin line. He found it hard to meet those eyes. "I should get going and pack. I'd like to have my room back at the castle, if that's all right."

"Of course it is." He tried to infuse the words with warmth, and more importantly love, but she wasn't receptive at all, just staring at him with those steel hard eyes.

She knew he was waiting for her to break down, to cry. But she had already done that, a lifetime of tears in two lonely days, the kind of broken-down sobbing that she had so hoped to avoid all her life. But it was done, and her heart was sealed. All she had to do anymore was survive.


End file.
